Page 32 of The Husband I Left

Across the room, standing silently beside the sideboard, Frederick is watching me too.

Kylie excuses herself to find the ladies room. I’m the only one who notices her leave.

After what feels like an interminable amount of time, lunch is finally over and the plates are cleared, and coffee is poured. Frederick leaves the room to oversee the dessert service. Nancy catches Oliver’s eye and nods. He stands, champagne flute in hand, and I hate that even now, I still find him wildly attractive. The sunlight coming through the window catches in his dark hair. His charcoal gray suit is perfectly fitted. He smiles lovingly down at me, but looking up at him, all I can think of is sapphires sparkling against another woman’s neck.

“I’d like to take a minute to thank everyone,” he says. “It means a great deal to my family to have you all here to celebrate my wife’s accomplishment. I’ll keep this short, because I know I’m the only thing standing between this room and dessert.” There’s a ripple of laughter, and I barely manage to restrain myself from rolling my eyes.

“Two years ago, I married the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met. Genevieve has worked incredibly hard for this, and I am endlessly proud of her.”

I can’t help it; I snort. Loudly. Twenty-three heads swivel toward me. There’s an awkward silence and Oliver’s smile fades just a touch. He clears his throat and continues.

“I’m proud of her,” he repeats, “and I’m grateful to have her as my wife. She means more to me than–”

I laugh this time. A sharp bark of disbelieving laughter. Oliver looks down at me then, his expression unsure.

“She means more to me than even she realizes.” The rest of his words come out in a rush: “To my wife, Genevieve!” He lifts his glass.

“To Genevieve,” everyone echoes, though a little uncertainly.

Just then Kylie slips back into the room. Which can only mean one thing.

Showtime.

I push back my chair and stand up. Oliver looks up at me, his expression pleading and a little afraid. I place my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Oliver. That was all very sweet.” I pause, letting the smile slide off my face. “I only wish I believed a word of it.”

Everyone in the room goes still, all of them shooting glances at each other.

“I also want to thank everyone for coming today,” I continue. “I know for a fact that most of you would rather be anywhere else, but I do appreciate the effort. I hope you enjoy the main entertainment.” Nancy half rises from her chair.

“Ladies,” I announce, spreading my arms wide, “let’s give it up for the guys from Unleashed!”

The French doors at the far end of the dining room fly open, thrown wide by Harlow on one side and Kylie on the other. For a moment, nothing happens. The curtains flutter in the breeze, and Oliver and every woman at the table stare at the empty doorway.

And then a very tall blonde man in a tearaway police uniform struts in. He has a silver boombox on his shoulder. He looks around the room and he grins. He presses a button, and first pounding bass notes of “Pour Some Sugar On Me” fill the room. Four other men follow him in. The tall man, Evan’s cousin Brock, winks at me as he passes.

They stride into the dining room as if they own it, and they start to dance.

My friends lose their minds, especially when the guys fan out, gyrating and flexing as they begin to remove their fake uniform shirts. Harlow is calling, “Take it off! Take it all off!” at the top of her lungs, even though there really isn’t that much left to take off.

Nancy’s friends are frozen, staring at the scene in horror. Nancy herself hasn’t moved at all. She’s still half out of her chair, her face blank, her mouth hanging open. Then the men start tearing off their pants, and her brain comes back online.

“FREDERICK!” she screams. If you’d asked me twenty minutes ago, I would have told you she didn’t have it in her to make a sound like that. “FREDERICK, GET IN HERE!”

He arrives in four seconds flat. The door from the hall swings open and Frederick bursts in, breathing heavily, almost as if he was running, and then he stops dead, taking in the scene: the music, the shirtless men gyrating, my friends cheering and whooping, me. He looks at me, and I look back, and I grin and wink at him.

His mouth opens. Closes. His eyes dart to Nancy, then to the strippers, then back to Nancy. For one glorious moment, the legendary butler of the Sinclair mansion has no idea what to do. “Madam,” he says faintly.

“GET THEM OUT,” Nancy shrieks. “GET THEM OUT OF MY HOUSE!”

I can’t help it. I start laughing.

Oliver’s hands close around my upper arms and he swings me around to face him.

“Genny, what did you do?” He demands as he looks from me to the dancers and then back to me. His perfect composure is finally, completely shattered.

I laugh harder. I laugh until tears are running down my cheeks and my sides ache, and I have to grab on to the back of my chair to stay on my feet.

“Mrs. Sinclair,” Frederick says, appearing at my elbow, his voice strained, “I must insist—”